


101

by lovelyblueraccoon



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-04-13 02:44:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4504635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyblueraccoon/pseuds/lovelyblueraccoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot stories featuring Max Ochoa; Lone Wanderer of the Wasteland, reluctant daddy's girl and member of the Brotherhood of Steel.</p><p>There's a chance some of these won't be in sequence, but I'll try to keep everything in order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**“We are born in the vault, we live in the vault, and we die in the vault”**_ ; the mantra had been drilled into the minds of every 101 resident since birth. It was an unfortunate reality, being stuck in the same walls with the same faces until everyone started dying off and the possibility of having to have children with one of those same people… a shiver shot up Max’s spine as she tried to shake the thought away. Maybe a miracle would happen and the Overseer would decide to open the vault door, they could all leave the vacuum-sealed coffin they called home and see what life was really like. Someone out there could probably use her programming experience, especially in a bigger town. Maybe all those nights helping her dad in the medical lab had rubbed some real medical knowledge off on her and she could find work as some doctor’s assistant. Hell, maybe she’d get up the courage to tell Amata how she’d felt all these years and they could escape the vault together and run off into the night.

She sighed as her foot absently kicked the desk she was sitting at, jarring the ancient Pip-Boy sitting in front of her in all its partially disassembled glory. It was just begging for the young woman to operate on it, make it work long enough to impress… anyone who would be interested. Probably only Stanley, if she was being honest but as her coworker his approval was pretty important. She got back to work removing screws and resetting pins where she knew she could; if there was one good thing about vault life it was the fact that the G.O.A.T. had pegged her right. If she was being really honest with herself she’d admit that she was mostly grateful for where she was. Life probably won’t be too bad in the vault as long as she just kept her head down and did good work; eventually something had to give. Maybe Amata could stir things up when she became Overseer and open them up to the outside, make it beneficial for everyone, residents and visitors alike. She continued to tinker with the machinery in front of her for the rest of the day, wrapped up with the task and her fantasies of the future; just another day in the vault.

\--

Days later Max found herself staring at the back of the very door she’d always hoped would open, bloody baseball bat in hand. Her stomach was in knots as the sirens blared around her in warning. This wasn’t how she wanted to leave, she didn’t want to leave at all, as it turned out. This was her home, these people were her family… Metal ground against metal as the door was pulled, painfully slow, from its resting place and rolled to one side. “Oh my god… you actually opened it…” she felt her head nod at the sound of Amata’s voice before turning to look at her friend. She looked much more confident than Max felt, and for a second she thought her heart would explode out of fear.

“You actually did it! My god, I almost didn’t believe it was possible.” Her friends expression calmed her somewhat and she gave Amata a mostly genuine grin in return.

“I told you I’d find a way to do it…” she looked back towards the door, eyes surveying the rocks huddled around the entrance; she could almost make out light peeking through wood as the other girls chuckle filled her ears.

“I should’ve known better than to doubt you.” She took a step forward, hand on the railing before she stopped and turned to face her friend of 19 years. She tried to make her face as neutral as possible but the way Amata’s expression softened and lips turned down she knew she was failing miserably. “Come with me. We’ve talked about this kind of thing since we were kids.” Her voice came out as a strange mixture of calm and desperate. _Please don’t make me go out there alone. I need you with me._ Her shoulders sagged just a bit when Amata looked down, her own hand clutching the end of the railing, their knuckles grazing against each other.

“I… I can’t Max. It’s tempting, but… my place is here. The vault needs me more than you do. I’m the only one who has a chance to talk some sense into my father.” Max nods as she speaks. Of course she’s needed here, it was stupid to think she’d abandon her father at a time like this. She finds herself looking at their hands and something stupid, but important, dawns on her. _This could be the last time we see each other…_ It takes only a second for the Pip-Boy programmer to come to a decision as she swallows past the lump in her throat and in one fluid motion steps back up the stairs while placing her clammy hand over Amata’s. Without thinking she closes the distance between them, pressing her quivering lips over the other girls; the bloody bat clatters down the stairs as her now free hand finds the jumpsuit cloth over her friends hip and grips it and for a brief moment everything is just… still. She feels the other girls hand grip her arm before pulling back and looking at her; another stupid, but important realization dawns on both of them and the sudden urge to cry is almost overwhelming.

Before either of them can say a word muffled shouting and the sounds of heavy boots fills the air and a look passes between them. If this had been any other day or any other circumstance this feeling would’ve been welcome, but in the moment it just hurts. Amata swallows hard and her grip on Max’s arm tightens just a bit. “Go, if they catch you…” the programmer nods quickly and her hand squeezes the other girls in what she hopes is a sign of reassurance before she turns and practically falls down the stairs, grabbing the baseball bat and sprinting towards the exit just as the door behind Amata opens and the security officers burst through, shouting curses at her back. She spots a yellow panel sitting just past the entrance and slams her fist into the big red button on it, sirens blare again in warning as metal grinds against metal. Her feet skid to a halt as she turns to look back, watching the security officers argue amongst themselves at the bottom of the stairs. Amata stands rooted to her spot and their eyes lock a final time; Max lifts her hand and gives a little wave as the door slides shut before her, leaving her in deafening silence.


	2. Aftermath

She feels the wave of radiation even on the other side of the bulkhead door; it’s a bone deep ache and a fresh wave of nausea she’s become all too familiar with since leaving the Vault behind all those months ago. It hits her hard, almost buckles her knees, and from the corner of her eye she catches Dr. Li do just that while gripping the railing in front of her. She manages to keep her feet under her and staggers a few steps forward to lean against the glass, muddy hands leaving grimy fingerprints as James does the same, all but slamming into the door. He’s already too pale, the whites of his eyes are red with blood and the harsh artificial lighting makes him look like a sickly wax figure under the sweat coating him from head to toe. No… nonononono- She slams her palm against the thick barricade, but the contact does nothing. She does it again.

“…Run!” He barely manages to get the word out before his legs give out. He slides toward the floor, almost in slow motion and his fingers drag down the glass leaving a sheen of sweat behind. Max abandons slapping the glass and starts punching it, the flesh of her knuckles opening after two solid hits, the third is followed by a **CRACK** but the pain doesn’t quite register as she continues to pound away. She’s vaguely aware of someone grabbing her shoulder, trying to pull her away from the mess of red she’s making. “-one! Max he’s gone, we have to go!” She gives the glass one last punch before Madison yanks her back with all her strength and almost throws them both the stairs behind them.

Max hits the ground hard, the back of her head slamming into the wall behind her and the whole world spins for a second. Madison grabs her arm, slightly above the elbow and has to yank her up into a standing position; the vault dweller realizes then that she hasn’t stopped talking. “We need to get to the old tunnel, we used it once before, a long time ago, it will to lead us someplace safe.” They stare at one another for a second, her mouth opens once then closes before she looks at the mess she left on the glass. He’s gone. Dad’s dead. Her eyes sting as she nods, never looking away from the door as she’s pulled from the room.

—

The rest of their evacuation goes by in a haze. She’s vaguely aware of grabbing a weapon from the floor, of somehow leading Dr. Li and the remaining scientists out into a tunnel infested with Enclave soldiers and feral ghouls. One of the men was shot in the back by a soldier, someone else was mauled by ghouls as she scouted ahead; the last one, Garza, collapsed just outside of the Citadel. Max comes out of the fog days later, bleary eyed and sore all over on a lumpy mattress in the dark. The backs of her eyes hurt as she blinks and rubs them with her good hand; she finds trying to flex the fingers of the other one just sends a jolt of pain down her arm. It takes her a few hours to collect herself in the darkness, trying to process the days between their escape and now.

It’s difficult to remember most of it, damn near impossible really, and she’s not even sure she wants to remember anything, especially when she realizes she’s been… difficult to work with in the aftermath. Eventually she manages to get out of the room she’s sequestered herself in, the need for water outweighing her desire for space. She feels a deep ache in her knees as she stands for probably the first time in days, the hole at the bottom of her sock brings the chill of the cracked concrete up her legs and into her spine and she can’t suppress the full body shiver it causes and she’s finally, truly awake. Her first few steps towards the door are shaky and she flinches as the door creaks open before poking her head out cautiously, scanning the area.

The whole base is quiet and dark, meaning most of the Brotherhood is either asleep or out in the field; either one is a blessing since she doesn’t have to look anyone in the eye on her way to the kitchen. She pads through the hallway on bare feet, trying to be as quick and quiet as possible. The minute or so it takes her to get from her room to the kitchen feels like one of the longest minutes of her life and she stops short of the pitcher of lukewarm water sitting on a table to strain her hearing to make sure she’s alone. When she’s sure she is she grabs the pitcher and drinks directly from it, taking huge painful gulps between deep breaths; she drains it a little too quickly and fills it under the tap before chugging it again.

The tap is still running when Sentinel Lyons walks in and she nearly drowns herself in her frenzy to simultaneously turn the water off and stop drinking, the only thing she manages to do is choke awkwardly in front of the blonde woman for a few painful seconds before they lapse into an uncomfortable staring contest with one another. They break eye contact at the same time, Lyons looks to her left as Max stares down at the Sentinel’s power armored feet.

“Ochoa…” she says stiffly, nodding curtly. Max nods back and mumbles… something; she can’t even tell what she says. The Wanderer has vague flashes of what happened days before, of Dr. Li screaming into the intercom outside and the doors to the Citadel opening. Of stumbling behind her and nearly toppling over as power armored bodies rush to pull Garza off the ground and shut the gates before the Enclave can attack; of the Sentinel catching her awkwardly and her suddenly getting a second wind and kicking off the chest of her armor in a mad attempt to reach the gates before they closed, screaming all the way. Her throat goes dry again at the memories and her body feels hot with shame; she shouldn’t have done that. She made a spectacle of herself, caused a scene in an already tense and dramatic situation, not that she can fix anything now… She opens her mouth, closes it and frowns. Crosses her arms over her chest with a sigh as she glares down at the Sentinels feet before opening her mouth again.

“I… I’m sorry. About kicking you. And screaming and… slapping you? Did I do that or imagine it?” Her eyes move up as she speaks, her voice thick with disuse, and they finally settle on the other womans face. Or near it. Another awkward stretch of silence follows her words before Lyons shakes her head.

“That was Cross.” Max flinches at the name; of course it would be one of the only people who was ever truly kind to her out in this hellhole of a world. She looks down again, crosses her arms tighter, until she feels something in her hand pop and a rush of warmth. If she could sink into the ground, she would.

“I’m sorry…”

—

It takes another few days to get the Wanderer out of her own head. Slipping back into the haze is the easiest thing she’s ever done. Another few days of silence, of sleep and ignorance before she wakes up and everything hits her again; she’s suddenly aware that she’s sitting on the familiar lumpy mattress, her arm resting on a metal tray table. Old bandages laying in a pile to one side, fresh ones in another as the Sentinel works on the mangled flesh of her knuckles with little metal forceps, pulling old stitches and setting them aside. She watches her work in silence for a bit, mildly surprised to see she knows what she’s doing. She must have to stitch her team up in the field… It’s a morbid thought that doesn’t leave her alone. She swallows past the lump in her throat and sighs before speaking up, never taking her eyes off Lyons hands.

“H-how’s Garza?” The hands stop mid-motion, Max stares at the stitch that’s halfway extracted, angry red flesh being pulled painfully upwards. Microseconds pass before she moves her gaze from her hand to the Sentinel’s face; they stare at each other.

“Dead.” Lyons reply is followed by the stitch being pulled free and Max can’t help but flinch and look off to the side, her shoulders slumping. “He had a heart attack; we couldn’t do anything for him.” She nods numbly, vaguely remembering him talk about it somewhere in the tunnels.

“…He said he didn’t have his medicine but I… never stopped.” The two lapse back into silence, the Sentinel continues to pull stitches as Max half watches.

“It wasn’t your fault.” The Wanderer looks up again as Lyons continues her work, eyes never leaving her hand. “He had a bad heart, it was bound to happen.”

“…Maybe…” More silence, a little easier this time. The Sentinel finishes her work, admires it for a second before pouring warm purified water on it and dabbing it with a clean rag.

“How’s it feel?”

“…Numb mostly. Kinda tight.” Lyons nods, presses down on it a bit with the warm cloth until something gooey oozes out of it, wipes it clean and repeats the process until the swelling is significantly lower. The cuts are deep, knuckles bulging and raw and obviously broken. She wipes it clean again, pours more water over it then dabs it dry before she begins stitching it back up.

“You popped the stitches the other night, didn’t you?” Max nods but keeps her eyes on Lyons hands, she doesn’t have to look at her to know she’s frowning. “You’re lucky I know how to do this.”

“How upset is she at me?” The Sentinel pauses for the briefest of seconds before continuing.

“She’s… not happy. Honestly though, I think she’s mad at everyone. The whole world. She’s not our biggest fan, at least.”

“She blames me for Garza. All of them.”

“Unfairly. It’s no one’s fault but the Enclave.” Max hears the other woman mumble bastards under her breath and she can’t help but nod her agreement. It really is all their fault. Dad’s dead because of them. She involuntarily clenches her good fist, grits her teeth until her jaw starts to ache. She relaxes when Lyons clears her throat.

“It wasn’t really a slap, you know. You just kind of… pawed at her face when she was dragging you away from the gate.” The Wanderer blinks and looks at Lyons, who makes a point of ignoring her again to continue her work. “You just got blood all over her really. It was pretty gross.” Max snorts as she continues to stare.

“Gross? Don’t you kill super mutants for a living?” Sarah shrugs, never looking up.

“I can find things other than super mutants gross.”

“Like a little blood?“

“It wasn’t a little, it looked like she got splashed by a puddle.” She finishes stitching her hand, begins wrapping it up in clean gauze. Max stares at her, not entirely sure what’s happening anymore. They lapse back into a not-so-awkward silence again; Max goes back to watching her work. Sarah finishes wrapping it and nods at her handiwork before standing up, moving the tray aside and brushing the old mess into a bucket full of trash. She wipes her hands together idly, looking off to the side and Max can’t help but study her; she figured the other woman’s armor was fused to her, so seeing her out of it is like having an out of body experience for her. She’s muscular under the Brotherhood uniform, and still tall; she blinks when she realizes how long she’s been staring and looks away, down at her newly bandaged hand. Sarah clears her throat again and she looks back up.

“You hungry?” Max stares, Sarah frowns slightly. “You haven’t left the room or eaten in days. And I was planning on grabbing something after-” She stops short and juts her chin at Max’s hand. The Wanderer’s stomach growls as she opens her mouth and she snaps her jaw shut as she feels herself go hot with embarrassment. Sarah snorts, her frown turning into a weird sort of smirk. “Come on.” Max stands, knees creaking under her as she takes a few sore steps forward. “Try not to choke on anything this time.”


End file.
